The Final Cuts

What will probably be the final episode of the UPN Sitcom Cuts is being shot right now. It's not officially done however anyone who's read the Nielson ratings for the last 2 months could have predicted the show's demise. Even before the UPN/WB merger. Not an injustice. Just business. To the show's credit, they didn't come in last every week. Still, even once is too many.
Cuts is fun little show. One of the better cast on television and some very funny jokes. I think the funniest show on UPN. Which is barely compliment.
The show is gone and the stars have to find new actors and actresses to snipe from behind. Some will be happy to go others will be sad. All will be a little richer. One star cried a lot this week. Seemed a little disingenuous considering the quality of the show and her relationships with some of the cast. I think maybe she's hurt by the loss of an opportunity. How often do you get the chance to star in a network (yes UPN is a network) television show? Since she is the big name, she may take the blame. That can be frightening and damaging. Who tracks mitigating circumstances like the miserable time slot or the miserable lead in or the awful scripts. What people track is the final score. So, maybe that's why she cries so much.
Or maybe she's like me. She doesn't want to find new day care. They say that show business is like high school with money. A sit-com is like pre-school. They have all kinds of toys and people to address all their needs and some of their petty desires. People handling personal errands. Someone to cook for them and if they don't like what's cooked, order something delivered. Someone to fill in for them when they can't, or won't make it to the set. What other job has stand-ins?
The job was good to me. I had a great time and enjoyed everyone I worked with even the evil ones. Cuts won't be missed. Except for the food.

Best Pasta in the World

I used to know this guy, Tony Squillioso. He would always tell me what a great cook he was. Told everybody. Any time anyone mentioned lasagna he'd tell us how great his lasagna was. You said spaghetti?- his was the best. If someone is that confident, you give them a shot. He invited me and some friends over for dinner and I couldn't have been more excited. His name was Squillioso (not really), he had an accent.- maybe not directly from Italy, but probably his parents. He must know what he's doing. We began eating and it became apparent from the subdued smattering of polite compliments and overall silence that I wasn't the only one underwhelmed by the pasta. We conferred when Tony was out of the room that not only was it not great, it was not good, bordering on bad. We politely finished and went on with our lives. Months Later, as we were still friends, I came to a party Tony was hosting and again he cooked and again the pasta was bad. The last time wasn't just an off night. That's his cooking. From that night on, whenever he invited me to dinner my standard response was " I'm busy that night." And that worked for nearly a year until he says to me "Johnnie, I'm having some friends over for dinner. I want you come".
I tell him "I'm busy that night."
Tony says "I haven't told you when it is yet."
I stammer as he walks away, and he hasn't said a word to me in 8 years, though I've seen him a dozen or so times. I wonder if he knows it's his cooking and not something personal. Then again cooking is personal.

Most of us know several people that honestly believe that their lasagna is the best in the world. 80 percent of them are wrong- way wrong- not even in the neighborhood of great lasagna wrong. 10% make decent lasagna and the other 10 percent really are good. That is the essence of life is finding the 10% that are worth your time, avoiding the bad 80 and making up other reasons to endure the mediocre 10. Cooking is personal. So is eating. Most people like their own cooking. Still we've all got some personal way of preparing something at home that other people just wouldn't get if they tried it. I eat pbj on wheat bread and people look at me like I'm an alien. Some times it's merely the sight of the preparation that will rob some of their appetites. Sometimes you get to their home and see their kitchen and get food poisoning just from the sight. I watched one friend stirring spaghetti sauce in between lines of cocaine. Even though sweat was pouring off his face into the pot I could not think of a viable excuse to leave. Probably because I had no ride and didn't know where I was except that I was about 400 miles form home. The spaghetti was however remarkably good- even euphoric. I wonder if the chef's nose bleed was the secret ingredient.